


Bar Scene

by RosiePaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's work walks into a pub...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bar Scene

So Sherlock’s work walks into a pub...

(Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.)

...and orders a pint because The Work (TW to its friends) (of which it hasn’t got many) has reached its limits and would like nothing more than to get sodden drunk. Unfortunately, TW realized on its way to the pub that it had forgotten to nick Lestrade’s credit card from Sherlock’s coat pocket before it slammed out of the flat. It’s only got enough money to cover one pint, but that’s better than no pints at all.

Bottoms up!

Having downed half the pint in one go, TW nurses both the rest of its beer and its sense of outrage. Really, was it too much to ask that one’s spouse should understand that marriage is _not_ an open relationship unless both parties have previously discussed and agreed to this stipulation? Was it too much to expect just a _little_ gratitude for having saved Sherlock from addiction and probable death-by-overdose? For having provided him with companionship, entertainment, excitement and a purpose in life?

Was it too much to expect Sherlock _not_ to cheat? And if he was going to cheat, to at least have the common courtesy not to do it right underneath TW’s metaphorical nose?

Well, all right, this _is_ Sherlock Holmes we’re talking about. Scratch "common courtesy," substitute "intelligence." Because Sherlock _is_ at least reasonably intelligent. For a human. In fact, it had been his intelligence that first drew TW to him, back in the old days when...

No. No more of _that_ line of thought or TW’ll be crying and it _does_ have its dignity.

TW eyes the bottom of its empty glass in dignified despair.

The bartender sets down another pint. "Compliments of the work in the corner," he says.

The work in the corner meets TW’s gaze steadily, no silly winking or obnoxious leering. It raises its own pint in TW’s direction as if in a toast and takes a drink. It’s a nice piece of work. Older. Not _old_ , you understand, but mature. _Experienced._

TW doesn’t usually do this sort of thing, but it needs to get drunk and it can’t afford to do so on its own, so what the hell. It picks up the pint and takes the drink over to the table in the corner, watching the other work watch TW approaching.

TW sits down, making a bit of a show of it, and takes a sip of the beer the other work bought for it.

"I’m not going to ask if you come here often," says the other work. "Because I do and I’d certainly remember seeing you before."

As lines go, this is hardly original, but it’s delivered with enough warmth to give it at least a semblance of honesty.

"First time," says TW. "I needed to get out for a bit."

"Get out or get away?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that." The other work looks away. TW thinks it might be looking for the bartender. It might be looking for the bartender to order more pints – or to pay its tab and leave. Ah, _no_. TW’s not letting that happen.

"No, you shouldn’t have." TW glares long enough to make its point, then shrugs. "Get away, really. Marriage problems."

"Marriage," says the other work ruefully. "Damned if you do, damned if you don’t."

TW recognizes a possible companion in misery. "What do you mean?" it asks encouragingly.

"I never asked my human to marry me – or expected _him_ to ask me. He’s got urges, needs to do something about them, you know how it is."

TW _doesn’t_ know, actually. Never needed to, until recently. Doesn’t _want_ to have to know. But TW doesn’t say any of this and the other work continues.

"I always figured he’d go have his fun, and then he’d come back to me. And that’s what he _did_ , for years."

"Maybe he got bored then, wanted something new and exciting."

"Oh, our lives hardly lacked for excitement. We joined the Army together, we’ve had postings on three continents. Our last posting was _Afghanistan_ – hardly gets more exciting than that, does it? Another pint?"

Something’s tugging at the corner of TW’s mind, but TW’s not used to alcohol at all – stimulants are more its thing – and the two pints it’s already had are having an effect on its thought processes. Which doesn’t stop it from agreeing to have a third.

"Maybe," suggests TW, careful of its diction, "He’d had _too much_ excitement and wanted to settle down and thought you didn’t."

"Ha!" snorts the other work. "Already thought of that, I did! I found him a nice lady with work of her own, a steady practice in his own profession and not bad-looking either."

"The lady or her work?" TW asks. For some reason, it feels a little put out.

"Both," replies the other work. And then adds with a bit of a smile, "Although neither held a candle to present company."

TW immediately feels much better. It’s not usually so susceptible to flattery. Must be the beer.

"So what happened?"

"What happened? _Nothing_ happened, is the problem! He saw the lady a few times and then decided they should just be friends! In the meantime, instead of paying proper attention to _me_ , his own work, he’s chasing all over London with that mad flatmate of his!"

Wait a moment, wait a moment, flatmate, chasing, Afghanistan, London, _oh_.

"Tell me," says TW carefully, "How did you _hope_ things would work out with the lady and her work?"

"To be frank about it, I was hoping for a nice, sweet foursome..."

A _foursome_? TW’s mildly shocked. And considerably intrigued.

"...with everyone taken care of and no one feeling neglected. It’s not that uncommon, you know. Even traditional, in some parts of the world. I thought, well, I suppose there’s no point in going on about that now." The other work sighs deeply.

"I don’t know. It seems like a sound plan. You just have to find the right participants."

"I hardly know where to find my own human, these days."

"Ah, but I know _perfectly_ well where John Watson is. He’s shagging _my_ human, Sherlock Holmes."

The other work stares. Then it starts to smile, and its smile keeps growing brighter and warmer and TW finds itself smiling right back.

"Amazing," says John’s work. "You are _amazing_."

And they all lived happily ever after.

(Really, you’ve never heard this one before?)


End file.
